He Found His Maid Freezing In the Snow During Christmas Dinner — Mafia Boss Exploded With Rage When…
The blizzard outside the Moretti estate was cold enough to kill a man in minutes, but the hearts of the people inside were even colder. While the city’s elite sipped vintage Dom Perin and laughed by the roaring fireplace, a young maid named Claraara was clawing at the frozen glass of the patio doors, begging to be let back in. She had been sent out into the storm as a cruel punishment, wearing nothing but her thin uniform.
No one cared. No one noticed until the most dangerous man in the underworld, Tony Moretti, walked to the window to watch the snowfall and saw a body buried in the drift.
What happened next wasn’t just a rescue. It was a reckoning that would burn the entire mansion to the ground.
The thermometer on the wall of the servants’s quarters read 68°.
But upstairs in the grand ballroom of the Moretti estate in Aspen, Colorado, the atmosphere was stiflingly hot.
It was Christmas Eve, the most important night on the social calendar for the East Coast crime families.
Claraara Thorne adjusted the white lace collar of her uniform, her fingers trembling. It wasn’t from the cold, not yet, but from pure unadulterated fear.
She had been working at the Moretti estate for only 3 months, taking the job to pay off her father’s gambling debts to a lone shark in Chicago. She tried to be invisible.
She tried to be a ghost. But when you worked for Tony Moretti the Carpo de Carpy and his vicious fiance Lana Vance, invisibility was a luxury you couldn’t afford.
Lana Vance was a woman sculpted from jealousy and old money. She was beautiful in the way a diamond is beautiful, sharp, hard, and capable of cutting you if you held it wrong.
She hated Claraara, not because Claraara had done anything wrong, but because three weeks ago, Tony had complimented Claraara’s coffee. That one moment of kindness from the ice king himself had painted a target on Claraara’s back.
“You there, girl?”
Claraara froze, balancing a silver tray loaded with crystal flutes of shadow Margo. She turned to see Lana standing by the massive French doors that led to the terrace.
Lana was wearing a crimson Valentino gown that cost more than Claraara would earn in 10 years. Her eyes, however, were predatory.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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